Rated: M for language, violence and some intimate situations.
Creator: Rav a.k.a Me
Characters: Madison Callaway, Freddie Girth, Harry Lance - mine
Other: Enjoy it! I plan on having big twist -wink wink-
Disclaimer: I didn't write the book or make the movie.

- - I KNOCK - -
Chapter One

To begin, we'll find the end. To work out a puzzle, we'll study the piece, and find they end. Begin at the end, end at the beginning. Logic. I suppose. Pure, untainted logic. The prose of simplicity. The nectar of life. Logic…

Madison raked down at her typewriter furiously, half-expecting it to talk her through her blockage. Nothing. She bit her lip, the raw copper feel of stimulated flesh touching her tongue. She wriggled her nose, running her tongue over her teeth - something she did often when she was puzzled or faced with a equation of difficulty.

She looked up, her black and red clock staring her down. Midnight. Mattie let out a frustrated hiss, looking back at her 1936 Royal KHM typewriter. "Do…something," she whispered, leaning back in her old wood chair. The dowels creaked as she did so, as if to say, get up you fatty.

She glanced out her window, the sudden blaze of lightening causing Hector to whine. The bellowing cackle of thunder followed, the poor Irish Wolfhound inched closer to her chair. Hector. Poor, poor Hector. Madison Callaway's dog since she was five. He was the epitome of all star-struck hounds. Lassie, The Dog of Flanders, Ole Yeller. Never did there live a more loyal dog - nor one who would dare to part her side. Wherever Mattie went, Hector was sure to follow. A bit of a parable, isn't it. Mattie had a little hound.

Madison reached down, dragging her fingertips across his scalp. She cooed softy, and he thumped his tail in instant delight. Bending down, she looked into his honey-chocolate eyes, with her own sage green ones. "Good boy," she said gingerly, the hound groaning a happy reply.

"An idle mind is the devils work," Mattie quickly chastised, sitting straight to place her fingers on the black buttons of her typewriter. They felt cold and empty - the polar opposite of how she felt when she first began writing this story. She knew exactly what she was writing. Somehow, it seemed blurry, intangible. She wanted it so badly. So she could be done with the whole damn thing and say "Hah."

Madison began this story at the beginning of winter, almost exquisitely sure, it would be done by late spring. And here it was, the middle of May, and still her muse refused to show itself. The little pip ran off, right when she thought it had returned. Maybe she pushed it? No. She had laid in wait for this, and now it was being a little shit. Refusing to be her inspiration.

Wholly disgusted with the whole thing, she pushed her seat back, the feet screaming against the wood floor of her bedroom. Hector rose his head in curiosity, watching as his owner glare at the inanimate object with contempt. He titled his gray head slightly, running his salmon tongue over his muzzle.

Mattie finally stood to her feet, and stepped over the massive heap of Wolfhound. "Jesus Hector," she sighed, nearly toppling over as he attempted to stand. She crossed the River Hector, plopping down on the edge of her bed. Flinging her head back, she looked at the ceiling. Swirls of plaster watching from overhead. Oh how many times those damned things kept her company. The nights where she couldn't sleep, the nights when it was too quiet for even the most remote possibility.

Reassured his master was not leaving, Hector sighed, his beard moving as his doggy breath passed it. Mattie groped for her nightstand, fingering her pack of Winston's. She picked the pack up, and tapped it twice on the heel of her hand. She unwrapped the clear wrapper, and tossed it aside, opening the box to be greeted by fresh nicotine. She edged a stick out, slipping it between her lips. Flinging the pack back on the stand, she grabbed her lighter. The Zippo was flung open, and brought to her lips. The flame sputtered for a moment, but quickly achieved its purpose, the cigarette smoldering to life.

Mattie took a breath, her stomach flipping with enjoyment. Rolling over, she crawled to the head of her mattress and shimmied under the cold sheets. She reached over, grasping the cord to the lamp, and yanked down. Darkness. She tried to predict how long it would take to go to sleep tonight. An hour, two? Jesus she hoped not, she was supposed to be meeting a friend tomorrow.

Cancel it.

No. Gordie is too good of a friend to just blow off.

Since when do you fucking care?

That little voice nagged at her. It loved to torment her thoughts, like a little bloodsucker. She was jus sixteen, and this insanity plagued her. Ever since he left them. Left her mother sobbing into her pillow every fucking night. That bastard, leaving with her. That whore.

Mattie's stomach wrenched. She quickly took another drag of her cigarette, numbing her thoughts with sweet addiction. She could hear Hectors faint breathing, and rolled over to her side, facing the corkboard that sat crookedly on her wall.

Cancel it.

No goddamnit!

Fine.

Good, shut up and leave me the hell alone.

Mattie despised these thoughts. Those characters she loved to write about, bothering her consciousness. She supposed all writers were faced with their creations sooner or later. If only she was as strong as her Nancy Drew like heroes. She felt her eyelids become heavy. So sleep would grace her tonight. Good. For once in four fucking months, shed sleep decent.

Abby reached over, smashing her cigarette into an ashtray. The ember shivered, and finally went out. Madison pulled the covers over her head, tightly shutting her eyes. Sleep. Come on. Sleep.

And it came. Thank God.

Gordon looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. The old brown one above the stove. She still wasn't here. Why? He looked down at his breakfast, pushing his grits to the side. His mother walked into the room, the same dull expression on her face. Gordie didn't say a word, only forced a forkful of the gruel into his mouth. His mother went directly for the dishes, as if she were a fish to water.

Gordie downed a glass of milk, and quickly stood, placing the dish quietly into the sink. He swept his bag off the ground, slinging it over his shoulder. The thought crossed his mind, to say bye mom. But, he didn't. He just walked through the kitchen door, and into the living room.

The screen door was ajar. Gordie glanced at the culprit. The newspaper. He scooped it up, and shoved himself through the door. It clanged shut behind him, as if shouting his escape. Glancing only for a moment, he saw his father in the garage. Mr. Lachance looked up from his spot by the engine, and ignored his son. Gordie wasn't the least bit surprised.

The sidewalk lay before him. The sound of his Keds hitting pavement made his mind want to rust itself shut. Only a five minute walk into town, but he enjoyed it much more when Mattie was there. He looked up at her house. Sitting quaintly on a hill in the distance, a whitewash fence grooving along the mossy hillside of her property. The front porch caught his eye, that ever-moving swing moving to and fro. That fucking thing moved every single second, of every day, even when Mattie wasn't there. Even when it was a vacant house, and not soul had entered it in over two years. Gordie shivered, looking up to the window he always presumed was Mattie's room. The light was on. Was she avoiding him? Was it what he said a day earlier? When she tried to criticize his work, and he told her off? No. That couldn't be it. Madison Callaway was a hard-ass. Simple things like that didn't give her room to allow a grudge.

The sudden crack of the front door brought his attention to the porch. There she was. Madison always seemed to look like a nymph, even when she was frazzled and frustrated. Hair as black as coal - that was almost always twisted up into a ponytail, - jade eyes, and pale white skin. Irish-Scott, that's what she called herself - a sight more interesting than himself. Which he hadn't the faintest idea of his heritage or bloodline.

She skipped to steps, and lept into the soggy grass, wet from last nights storm. Her jeans slightly splattered with mud, arousing a curse, which Gordie heard from his standpoint. Her white, button-up blouse managed to stay clean however. Though he noticed she was carrying a coat in her hands. She splattered across the lawn in her All-Star Conversers, stopping for nothing. Mattie had determination. That was an attribute Gordie admired in her. That, and the fact she had already wrote an entire book (at the age of fifteen). Among other things, Mattie was Gordie's mentor.

Finally meeting him at the sidewalk, Madison stopped to take several deep breaths. Gordie smiled, shifting on his feet to watch the smoker suffer. She looked up, still leaning down, her hands braced against her knees. "Good…morning…Lachance," she said between struggling breaths.

Gordie chuckled, "Morning Mattie," he replied contentedly. She finally steadied her breathing, standing erect. She placed her hands on her hips, looking her friend up and down. She lifted her bag onto her shoulder, and started forward. "Bad morning?" Mattie nodded, and rolled her eyes, scratching her jaw line.

"My alarm didn't go off, the water was cold, and mom didn't wake up, which led me to think she tried it…again," Mattie sighed out, using her hands as she talked. Gordie nodded, understanding most of it. Madison's mother attempted suicide, twice, and ever since, she's unpredictable. Mattie loved her mother, but she never imagined she'd be caring for her like this.

Gordie kicked a pebble up the sidewalk, watching it skid along the pavement and catch a groove. "I don't know Gordie, I mean, its like I'm invisible to her," Mattie said shamefully, rubbing a groggy eye. Gordie looked up, seeing the obvious depression in her curved face.

"Don't worry Mattie, she'll get better," he answered, but she knew it was a lie. He knew was a lie. It was a lie. She was getting worse. Madison quickly changed the subject.

"So, where we headed?" A gust of wind spit at her face, and she wriggled her nose, holding a hand up to break the updraft. The scent of wet asphalt and soggy grass heavy. Though she wasn't sure, the smell of soap tingled her senses, and quickly dissipated with a passing car. She moved a strand from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "Not the library, I hope," she said under her breath. Gordie pretended not to hear her, although the purpose of that comment was to drop him a hint. Gordie followed the shoulder, curving up to where the sidewalk ended.

"I don't know, where do you wanna go?" He said, emphasizing the word you. Mattie flicked her green eyes in his direction, casting a stony glare briefly. She rolled her eyes quickly, and took a breath of the stale air, her lungs tightened in objection. Mattie coughed lightly, bringing a rounded fist to her mouth. Her cheeks flooded, and she recovered, noticing Gordie's line of concern.

"Don't look at me like that Gordie," she said, ignoring his gaze. She concentrated on the picturesque town that rolled into view. A little white church, steeple thrusting out into the gray of the morning sky. People walking from its doors with fake smiles and laughs. Faux emotions, faux concerns. All weavings of courtesy.

"Like what?" he said nonchalantly, as if he'd always looked at her like that. He didn't, however.

"Like that," she implied, scrunching up her nose and furrowing both brows. Gordie couldn't help but gurgle with amusement. "I know what I'm doing," she led on, switching her bag to the other shoulder.

"Sure," Gordie harrumphed. "I don't want to go to another funeral," he said blankly, and Mattie knew what he meant. A sharp pang of guilt entered her mind.

"Positive today, aren't we?" she rebutted sarcastically. He merely sighed, looking up to the smoldering skies of dullness. "Anyways. I would like a change," she stated simply, following his gaze. She sighed at more rain. Rain. Rain. Rain. It had rained for a week now. Half her back yard was flooded, preventing her from taking her dearly loved walks down to the stream in the thicket, behind her house.

"Like what?" Gordie replied brusquely. Mattie watched her feet shuffle forward and shrugged.

"Something…" she trailed off, feeling a water droplet splash on her head. Gordie looked up, hardening a glare up at the sky. "…fun," she said vaguely. Gordie looked at her biting her lip. She did that often. Mostly when she thought hard on something.

"Like…"

"Hell Gordie, I don't know," she finally said, throwing her head back to look at the sky. She wanted to apologize, but wouldn't. Not in the nature of Madison Callaway to admit she was wrong. That reminded her of their argument a few days ago.

She was explaining to Gordie, something about cloud formations. She remembered specifically, because they were laying on that hill, near the school. Gordie was writing intently in his notebook, and Mattie was smoking. Billows of smoke plummeting skyward. It wasn't the actual clouds that aroused her conversation, but the smoke.

"Cumulus clouds Gordie, rains comin."

"Isn't that nimbus?" he had said. The rest was a bit fuzzy, all she really could recall was calling him a piss-ant and leaving quite upset. Later, after searching in her textbook, she came to find Gordie was right. She didn't apologize to him. Though she knew she was wrong. Mattie Callaway was stubborn. That was a given.

Now walking the sides of the town, Gordie looked up to see the clouds roll away. There wasn't much to do in Castle Rock, which usually led to trouble, or long hours studying at the library. Mrs. Stuart nagging at them the entire time. The woman with the speech impediment, that always insisted on spraying ones face with spittle. Gordie shuddered at the thought.

A thought entered his mind. A round of Scat at the tree-house. He hadn't shown Madison yet. She may laugh at him, and tell him he was a pussy for hanging out in a tree-house. Just the monotone note of that place brought back memories. Teddy and Vern. Not to mention, he hadn't seen Chris since Saturday, even when he promised his friend he'd introduce him to Mattie. They still hadn't met, only because Mattie avoided people mostly altogether. No one really understood how a girl could dress like her, and be so…unorthodox about her womanly ways. Swearing, smoking cursing and being all around doused with things a man usually did. Suppose a thanks and good riddance to her fuck of a father may go into play.

"Hey, when am I ever going to meet your friend?" It was like she read his thoughts. Gordie bumped her shoulder, avoiding a lamppost. He shrugged, glancing to the Pool Hall. "Come on Lachance, you talk about him, like he's good Gods son in law," she said, her lips twitching as she said this. Gordie smiled uneasily. Was Chris ready to handle the firecracker Madison Callaway. Sure. Chris was a calm, collective, level-headed guy. Mattie wouldn't arouse a fight with him. Would she?

Well speak of the devil, there he was. Wouldn't ya know it?

In all his infinite Chris-like glory. Mattie followed his gaze, looking at the blond boy with shrill eyes. "That him?" Gordie nodded. "He doesn't appear to be the hero you describe in stories Gordo. He looks like shit." Crude. Yes. But that word fit him perfectly. In fact, it bristled Gordon a bit. He did look like shit. What had happened to him?

Chris looked up from his stationary spot on the corner, his blue eyes catching his best friend like a snare. Gordie shifted, eyeing the red spot on his cheek. A bloody lip too, he had a good licking on him. Gordie first instinct was this; courtesies of Eyeball Chambers. Of course, Chris' dad also could have been the culprit, but the last time Gordie had talked to Chris, he'd said his father was fine. Not drinking much. Which was always a good thing. Mattie's prodding voice raped the silence.

"Posing for animal crackers Gordie?" she said, pushing him slightly with her elbow. Gordie looked at her face blankly, and managed a crooked smile. "Are we going to say hello, or stand here fucking gawking at him like peepers?"

Gordie sighed inwardly, and led the way reluctantly. As he approached his friend, Chris shifted uncomfortably. Gordie stopped a few feet from the his friend. "Hey, Chris," he said, forcing a crack of a smile. Chris looked up at his friend, confirming all suspicions. Chris had the piss beat out of him. By who? Elementary dear Watson. By the looks of it, it was Ace and all the Cobras. One person couldn't have done it alone.

"Hey Gordie," Chris said timidly, crossing his arms and looking at his shoes. Mattie bit her lip, sizing the boy up. Gordie studied his friends reaction, and was about to ask what had been plaguing him for the last two minutes. Of course, he would have, if Mattie hadn't done it for him.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Gordie shot her a well earned glare, and looked back to Chris. The blond looked up, eyeing Mattie as if she were a two-headed viper. Gordie could tell he wasn't offended, only at a loss of words.

"Nothing," he said flippantly, and dismissed the obvious evidence of abuse. Objection! Gordies mind shouted, slamming its fists of conclusion onto the table of concern. Overruled.

"That's a piss in the dark," Mattie said, scrunching her face to look at his black eye. Chris looked up again, this time his eyes shimmered with annoyance. Gordie sighed, stepping in between the two and addressing the bench without the help of Miss Mattie.

"Who did this?" he said, painfully aware his question was pointless. Chris sighed, squinting through his puffy eye.

"No one," he said with a shrug. Mattie held her tongue, though an incredibly witty comment rumbled within her throat. Gordie sighed, throwing his arm over Chris's shoulder and walking forward.

"Was it Ace and the Cobras?" he said, glancing at her as Mattie growled. Chris nodded painfully, watching the pavement below his feet roll backward. Chris must have done something. Scratch that. Nothing. He was their favorite target these days. When the poor boy wasn't getting hided by his father, he was being used as a punching bag by the Cobras. "What did you do?"

Chris looked up, feeling a tad bit relieved to have told someone. He shrugged, "Since when do I have to do anything?" he said, a sting of irritation in his voice. Not at Gordie, but at the fact God let him get hided like this. It was downright unfair.

"So, I'll just follow…obediently, until I can offer myself of use. Don't mind me," Mattie muttered from the back. Gordie had forgotten she was there. He glanced back over his shoulder at her, and stopped.

"Oh, ya. Chris, this is Mattie. Mattie, this is Chris." The two stared at each other, as if they were two gladiators. Mattie offered a hand.

"Madison Callaway," she said, forcing a smile. Chris took it in his own.

"Chris Chambers," he replied, he too pushing out a smile.

"Anyway. You up for a game of Scat? Chambers?" Mattie said, glancing to Gordie. Chris actually smiled.

He shrugged, "Sure your up for it?" he goaded, looking over to Gordie. Gordie smiled, and looked at Mattie, who was bubbling with amusement.

"Does a dog have ears?"

Within an hour, the three had stopped by the convenient store, gotten some drinks and chow, and scuttled on up to the tree house. As expected, Mattie laughed at the fact they still hung out in a tree house. But, it was inevitable.

The game started slow, but the refreshing memory finally flowed back like a mountain rivulet.

Mattie was the first to knock. She held the three cards in her hand tightly, a limp cigarette dangled from her moist lips. Chris looked up, swearing under his breath. Gordie smirked, looking at his hand with a nod. As the last round wound to a stop. Abby laid her hand down.

"Twenty-eight."

Chris laid his down, frowning, defeated. "Twenty."

Gordie slapped his down, "Twenty-nine" he bellowed triumphantly.

"Shit," Mattie said, breathing in a puff. She tossed her two pennies in, and Chris his one.

"Sorry Mattie," he chuckled, shuffling the cards up. Mattie rolled her eyes, looking at her last life. The copper shimmered up at her, as if pleading for its survival. She flipped it over, as if to hush Lincoln up.

"Just deal the fucking cards," she sneered, taking another drag from her cancer-stick.

The game lasted another three rounds. It stopped abruptly, as the heavens opened up and spat fourth a torrent of stinging rain. Which seemed to purposely blow sideways into the tree house.

The three sat back, smoking and listening the music playing on the radio. A few songs went by, arousing smirks and laughs. But, their peace was disturbed by a thump. Everyone sat up, exchanging glances.

"What the fuck?" a voice from below sounded. Mattie furrowed her brows and glanced to the two boys. They ambled to the hatch, and shoved the table off, flipping the small latch they had installed last year.

As the wood was pried upward, a familiar caramel head bobbed up through it. Chris smirked, backing up. Soon a face accompanied the greased up hair. Teddy Duchamp stood awkwardly on the ladder, steadying himself against the wood. He looked exactly the same. Only difference was a two year increase now. Same glasses, his hair was still greased up to one side, and he still wore those damn dog tags.

"What? What is it?" a voice from the ground called up. Teddy looked at the faces, just as surprised as they were to see him.

"What the fuck do ya know Vern? Its Chambers and Gordie," he said, finally smirking.

"What? Really!?"

Teddy climbed in, plopping down beside Chris. Vern quickly followed. "Wow, this is boss! Where have you guys been?" he said, his smile from ear to ear. Mattie quirked a brow, looking around at all four of them, as if they were aliens.

"Hey Teddy, Vern," Gordie waved, glancing to Mattie. He sat forward, watching Chris shut the latch.

"What you homos been up to?" Teddy said, looking to his left at Mattie. Vern followed his gaze, and shared the same quizzical look. Gordie frowned inwardly. This would definitely fetch some dramatics. The two craziest people he knew. In the same room.

"Hey guys, this is Mattie," Gordie said, gesturing to the girl. Mattie nodded a quick greeting. Teddy reciprocated said greeting, and looked her over; she dressed weird.

"Hey," Vern said, waving lightly. Chris shifted, glancing between them.

"What about you?" he said, breaking the silence. Teddy shattered his gaze and looked at Chris with a shrug.

"Shit and nothing. Came here to get away from those pussies down by the baseball field," he said.

Vern nodded rapidly. "Ya, those guys can eat shit," he sighed, his impediment still apparent.

Mattie flicked her eyes at Teddy. She knew who he was talking about. Freddie and his little gang that prowled around the school. Her first run-in with those fagots, was the third day after she had moved to Castle Rock. They stole Gordies notepad, the one that had a few brief stories on it. Mattie took it upon herself, to corner Freddie alone, and take it back from him. She did get ganged up on a few days later, but it wasn't too bad. A bloody lip and bruised arm. She was thankful it was before their group increased. Otherwise she'd be buried below the earth in a damn box.

"Freddie?" Goride asked with a flick of his eyes. Teddy nodded with a sound between his teeth.

"Ya, they think they run the school," he said, lighting up a cigarette. For a second time, he glanced at Mattie, who was biting her lip - like she always did when thinking. She made contact, her eyes reeled and she formed her lips into a thin line.

"What?" she said sharply. Teddy smirked.

"You girlfriends kind of rude Gordie," he said, rolling his eyes and cupping his hand against his smoke, to light it. Mattie scoffed and Gordie doubled over with laughter. Even Chris saw the humor and cracked up. Teddy glanced at them, "What?"

"She's not my girlfriend," Gordie said, wiping tears from his eyes, trying to silence his fit of laughter. Teddy glanced to Mattie. Chris shook his head, thumbing the deck of cards.

"Go screw," Teddy said, shaking his head and taking a drag from his cigarette. Boy Teddy hadn't changed much. Still wearing his cheap Hawaiian shirt, and jeans. Gordie was sure he wore the same shoes too. Mattie still smiled, amused by Teddy's mistake. Vern sat back, watching her intently. Mattie noticed a few minutes earlier, but hadn't said anything. Boom goes that approach.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" she hissed rather venomously. It was close to a hiss, much like a wretched black cat. The Halloween ones. Vern shook his head, switching his gaze to the guys. "Good, I thought I was Jesus fucking Christ for a second," she said, shaking her head. Teddy chuckled a little.

"He probably wants to know why you dress like that," he said, gesturing to Mattie with a slight nod. Mattie looked at her clothes, and back to Teddy.

"Like what?" Gordie looked up from his magazine. Shit. Please don't start. He could see it now, Mattie lunging for Teddy. He shifted, placing his magazine aside. Leaning forward, he awaited for the little signal. That sound Mattie made when she became really pissed off.

"A guy," Teddy said, shrugging. The sound didn't come. Thank God. But she was fuming, Gordie knew it. She was only keeping what ever composure she had. If that lid ruptured, it was shit to the wind my friend.

"Are we gonna play fucking cards?" she finally breathed, her voice seething a bit. Everyone shrugged, and pulled their seats up. Chris quickly dealt the blue faced cards, and set the draw pile out. "Its about time," Mattie commented, looking at her cards through the plume of smoke she created. Her voice was muffled by the smoldering nicotine hanging from her mouth.

"I knock," Teddy said with a smirk. Mattie looked up. He had to have a pat hand. That, or he was crazy. The last round - which was coincidentally the first - went around quickly. Teddy laid down, "Twenty-six." Then, they went around the circle, fifteen for Vern, twenty for Gordie, twenty-three for Chris.

Mattie smirked, "Twenty-seven."

"Shit," Teddy said, throwing his two pennies in. Clear as day, there it sat. Twenty-seven. He groaned, looking down at his last penny. Mattie shrugged.

"Shit-outta-luck Duchamp." Her eyes scrutinizing his, as if he were some puzzle. He double-took, and could swear he'd seen her somewhere before.